Letra de ' S.N.O.R.T (feat. The Alchemist & Freddie Gibbs) ' de Boldy James

'Chemist, Bo Jack
G.I. back to that one-way
Where we at with it? Uhh
227, Blockworks
Let's get it

I'm making short-term goals, make the work turn pro (Yeah)
Started with a diamond in the rough, just a lump of coal
Snipe a nigga soul, lil' Joseph, he'll up the pole
Wipe a nigga nose, for his Rol' and them Buffalos
Swiping custos, selling blows, running through them 'bows
How you loving those? Never told on none of my bros
I be on the road, ducking patrol, coming through the toll (Yeah)
Tryna keep it low, but Lord knows I need to move this load
Shootin' through the O, on 75, set the cruise control
It's moving too slow? Give it to Taj, he gon' move it whole (Drug store)
It ain't what you know, it's who you know, plug toot his nose
Every time it touch, it put me right back in the Super Bowl (Back in the game)
No, this ain't Kweli, that was Hi-Tech in my juice I poured
On my mama stove with a Pyrex full of sushi roll
I hit it with them ice chips and Ramen noodle bowls (Ugh)
It harden up and turn into a block, looked like the soup was cold

The Los Angeles Firing Squad now must come
Yeah, us original
Sincerely yours, Unfadeable Fred
V12s, yeah
Crime lord, it's the twank, yeah

Ayo, VVS's super froze, coupe ain't got no roof or doors (Nah nah)
My uncle and his partner test my dope, he got a stupid nose
And lately, I been curving groupie hoes but I get stupid chose
'Bout to drop a thousand in my 'Rex, I whip the Super Bowl
Them foreign cars, I'm bored with 'em
'Bout to toss that to Lord and them
Fuck a whip, I need a space coupe
We in Doc drop, in that Delorean (Pyoom!)
Michael J. Fox jumping out the pot, Michael J. Hops
Fuck rap, I can shave rocks, these slave-ass rappers can't drop
Rolex say I'm on my eighth watch; wait, stop (Yeah)
Seven-figure nigga still at the store
While my groupie bitches eatin' Domino's
And my Houston hoes getting Pappadeaux's
My Dominicano 'bout to drop a load
I don't trust a soul, so a nigga drove (Rrrr)
Hit the County, I was in the hole
With some Black Stones and some Silent Fours
I'm checked in, vest in, big bunny rabbit don dada
I remember when I seen a rapper
Do a spot for 1-800-CRIMESTOPPERS
I remember being on the run
Smoking Swisher Sweets up in the Ramada (Yeah)
Crime lord, on Vice Lord, I'm the underground king, Godfather
Nigga, what

But we didn’t do it
It’s not my calling
It’s all a part of the same train of thought process
That’s what I'm saying, and that train of thought is what helps you get talent

It’s brainwash, bruh forreal

Why so far removed?

From themselves, from they environment
From what’s right the fuck around them
But they’re directly attached to it
Like violently
Pssh, what?
And emotionally

Preach
That’s what I'm telling you
Jail don’t make you–jail don’t rehabilitate you (at all)
It actually makes you more of a criminal

You said it bro, that shit is crime school!
That shit is a crime school